


Where to Draw the Line

by brokenparable



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Danish Actor RPF, Hannibal (TV) RPF, Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Anal Sex, Dreams, Kissing, M/M, Madancy, Masturbation, Oral Sex, RPF, Self-Deception, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 18:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10859931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenparable/pseuds/brokenparable
Summary: After a sex dream, Hugh finds he is sometimes preoccupied by thoughts and questions about what Hannibal would be like in bed with Will. However, there's something under the surface of his fantasies that he can't yet acknowledge.





	Where to Draw the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Essentially, this fic is entirely about Hugh jerking off to Will/Hannibal fantasies as a safe way to express his own repressed physical attraction to Mads. This nonsense is technically compatible with my ["As Easy as This"](http://archiveofourown.org/series/663218) series but is set further back in time and so can be read entirely on its own. As ever, I mean no disrespect to the actors and view this type of story as nothing more than self-indulgent daydreaming.

Hugh dreams he is Will, lying on his back in a baggy flannel shirt that's half unbuttoned, strong hands holding him down and soft lips mouthing at the sensitive curve of his neck. He shivers at the vulnerability of his position, a jolt of fear racing through him at the same time as he gasps with pleasure and tilts his head to provide greater access.

"Hannibal," he breathes restlessly, and suddenly they're kissing, deep and hungry with open mouths. With a quick shift of hips they're grinding against each other, the friction of their rough rhythm so perfect and urgent that he could almost come just like this, trembling and sweating under the weight of Hannibal's body. The need to feel skin against skin wins out in the end, and soon he's tugging at their clothes, flicking open buttons and pulling down zippers. He reaches to take them both in his hand, and Hannibal closes his eyes and moans low in his throat, a light flush blooming on his cheeks.

A siren blares outside and Hugh jolts out of sleep. He is momentarily confused about where he is, but reality quickly rushes back in as his heart rate slows and he tries to think about anything but the ache between his legs. After a valiant attempt at abstinence that lasts an impressive thirty seconds, he caves to the insistent pull of arousal, shoving his pajama trousers down. He is already teetering on the edge of orgasm from the dream alone, his cock throbbing in the tight grip of his fingers. His mind burns with the memory of what it was like to feel the heat of their erections rubbing together, to hear the slick pump of his fist as they leaked all over each other. He works himself to a quick, shuddering release, shooting sticky and wet across his stomach.

In the light of day, he smooths over his lingering embarrassment by considering that people wank over all sorts of things, and that it's almost inevitable for one to want to do so after dreaming about fucking. It's not that different from watching porn, and it doesn't have to say anything interesting about what you really want or what you'd really _do_.

Still, he blushes and fidgets when he greets Mads that morning, feeling transparent and oddly exposed. If Mads notices anything unusual, he doesn't say so.

****

Most days, he feels as he always has on set. It's a satisfyingly fun but professional environment, and his friendship with Mads is generally as natural and relaxed as ever. Hugh doesn't really give much thought to his awkward sex dream. Still, a seductive echo of what he felt can sometimes unexpectedly rise to the surface, and he discovers he can't always manage to keep the boundaries as clean and rigid as he would like. 

This is particularly apparent to him when they film the end of _Su-Zakana_. Something powerful flickers to life inside him as they stand together in the stable; he absorbs all the open, rapturous admiration radiating from Mads and feels himself automatically responding to the headiness of that warm-eyed adoration. For a split second, he forgets that they're acting and he's seized by the irrational impulse to crash their lips together, but then Mads trips over the line about the chrysalis and they all laugh about Hannibal's impenetrable dialogue. To Hugh's relief, the moment is gone.

He jerks off in the shower after they wrap for the day, his left hand shaking slightly as he reaches up to touch the place where Mads had stroked the back of his neck with possessive, gentle fingers earlier that evening. Hugh imagines being Will again, being touched in that same way as he gets down on his knees. He sees Hannibal standing in one of those gorgeous suits, fully clothed except for his hard cock sliding into Will's waiting mouth. Hugh slips entirely into Will's perspective and the fantasy is so vivid that he can almost taste the saltiness of the skin on his tongue, can almost feel the thrill of reducing Hannibal to soft groans and encouraging words — _that's it, take it all_. Hugh comes in spurts against the tiled wall at the thought.

He frowns as he soaps himself clean. Getting off after a sex dream about their characters is one thing, but it's different to be so turned on by a scene — especially a scene that was hardly the most provocative or erotic of his career. It doesn't mean anything of course, but it’s sort of odd and quite inappropriate. He feels a little guilty and uncomfortable, and he resolves to monitor his thoughts a bit more carefully from now on.

****

Rationalization and compartmentalization serve Hugh well for a long time, but the intimacy of filming the season three finale revitalizes many of the buried questions and curiosities that have been building for years. There's still more work left to do, and he supposes it's only sensible to scratch this itch before it begins to distract him from his job.

Pieces of different scenarios blur together as he slowly starts to touch himself. It feels illicit to think about this so explicitly after being so careful and controlled, but he's already hard and there's a thrum of excitement quickly starting to eclipse his unease. There's no real narrative to what he sees — just a dizzying onslaught of the images that have quietly collected in his subconscious. He wonders if Hannibal would pin Will's hips down while sucking him off, making sure he can't twist or squirm and can only take whatever he is given. Maybe he'd be in one of Hannibal's therapy chairs, or perhaps naked in a sumptuous bed, helplessly fisting the sheets as he dissolves into a begging, aching mess. A tremor of lust runs through Hugh as he imagines looking down to see a wet, reddened mouth eagerly stretched around his cock.

He switches focus and starts to fantasize about being fucked deep and hard from behind, an animalistic union that leaves him with bruises. Or maybe it would be better face to face, sharp teeth nipping at his lips and scraping along his jaw, his body shivering as a nose presses into his neck to inhale the scent of his sweat. He recalls the way Mads can lower his voice to a menacing purr, and he feels hot all over as he wonders what it would be like to listen to that voice murmuring the filthiest of desires and intentions. Hugh's breath hitches and his hips stutter, his hand moving faster on his cock as he thinks of his body being filled, thinks of the harsh sounds that would be torn from his throat in response to beautifully brutal thrusts. A trace of the romantic creeps into his fantasy as he pictures their hands entwined, gripping hard enough to hurt as they murmur barely coherent words and fuck through a chaotic cascade of tumbling emotions held in for far too long — _I need this, I need you, make me feel it_.

In the final moment before his release, Hugh imagines he can hear his name being whispered into his ear, the sound of it desperate and worshipful — the sound of _his_ name, not Will's. His toes curl at the sharp spike of pleasure, and he comes so hard it knocks the air out of his lungs. Panting, he spills over his hand, biting down on his bottom lip to block whatever might be threatening to trip off his tongue.

He lies in silence for a while, wondering exactly what just happened.

****

"Do you ever think a lot of this hassle could have been avoided if they'd just fucked years ago and got it out of their systems?" Mads asks at lunch the following day, shoveling potatoes into his mouth. He's being glib, but it's the first time he's ever asked about this so directly, and Hugh's stomach lurches at the timing.

He recovers admirably and takes a sip of his water. "No, it's nothing so simple or crude," he scoffs loftily. "It's an elevated kind of love. A special sort of kinship."

Mads looks up and pauses for a second, then he smiles. "Okay," he shrugs. "If you say so."


End file.
